


A Path of Scars

by BookSongs



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Acceptance, Alters, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Illness, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Multi, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Suffering, Unstable relationship, choleric tendencies, everyone's having a ton of thoughts within mere seconds, i base them on several other aspects besides Himas version, i rlly hope the charas are not too OOC, i'm not a english native speaker, mentions of historical events/eras, mentions of selfharm, references to stuff, story with several POVs, there might still be several typing or grammatical errors, very young relationship, way too stubborn characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookSongs/pseuds/BookSongs
Summary: The soul is a complicated thing.The soul is a place in which darkness can bury everything underneath itself regardless of how bright these things may shine. In which darkness can smother every light.But even the darkest places can be illuminated if there’s a light bright enough to do so.Alfred refuses to turn a blind eye to Ivan's suffering as the Russian wishes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just revised this chapter. But for anyone who read it already: there are only minor changes. If you still notice mistakes or typos I'd appreciate it if you would just notify me.

“Hey Russiiaaaa…”

America wrapped his arms around Russias back pressing himself against the others broad chest and burying his face in the smooth cloth of the dark blue suit the taller man was wearing. The aroma of chamomile tea, freshly fallen snow and soap with a hint of vodka and sweat tickled America's nose as he took in the smell of the other man.  
Russia stiffened for a brief moment – like he did most of the times when America hugged him out of the blue while the two of them were still being more or less surrounded by other people/nations – until his body relaxed in the embrace. Most of the nations had left already and the last ones were about to do so too. It was ok Russia told himself and eased.

He knew there could only be one reason for America to act like that (They had agreed quite a while ago that at least for now public affection would be restricted to a minimum as Russia still felt as he put it 'a bit uncomfortable' showing any real emotions in public. America had been quite disappointed at that but accepted Russias wish in the end.).

“You know I haven’t had anything for dinner yet~”

“Nyet”

“But Ivaaaan”

“Alfred I really can’t stay in Brussel, I have very important business to attend to back home. You know my flight is scheduled for 6.50pm.”

“Yeah, i know”  
  
Came a muffeled voice from Russias chest telling the Russian that the American was not willing to let go of him so easily.

Carefully lifting his left arm from America, Russia quickly glanced at his watch.

“Right now it’s 4.47 pm but I still have to pack my things, check out of the hotel and drive to the airport and i’d prefer not to have any additional time pressure. I fear this will have to wait until next time.”

“Come on Ivan just some minutes. We can grab some take away before leaving and then eat it at the airport so you won’t miss your flight”

Russia sighed silently. Who would have thought America could be so clingy from time to time. Afterall he was the nation that cherished freedom and not being bound to anything so much he revolted against his own brother to cut himself off of familybounds that he said had felt like chains. But it seemed that America was eager to accept some 'chains' if it came to Russia and his citizens of course.

“Alfred it’s not that I don’t want to spend some more time with you but I really don’t want to be dragged into McDonalds again and arrive back in Moscow smelling like I washed my suit with the dripping of french fries. You know my leader wasn’t too amused about that… To put it mildly.”

“That last time was an accident! I didn’t meant to stain your suit with my food…”

America blurted out, pulling his head away from the slow but steady heart beat he had been listening to to look Russia in the eyes for a second just to bury his face in the soft cloth again when he felt his cheeks turning pink.  
He couldn’t look into the lilac eyes without feeling like he was going to drown in them. And right it didn't seemed appropriate or convincing to get lost in those lavender irises.

“But it’s the last meeting for this month and I have no time to visit you prior to the next meeting and neither have you…”

The American tightened his grip for a tiny moment.  
He had really hoped he could spend some time with Russia before going back to Washington. The recent months had been really exhausting for him. So many paperwork had to be done that he didn’t even had enough time to try the new game Kiku had sent him earlier on. Sure it wasn't really Russia's task to spend time with him or to take care of him but that didn't mean America wouldn't ask for or hope that Russia would do so.

Under normal circumstances America would have found the meeting with the other nations stressfull as he always had to pay full attention – or at least try to do so - to every speaker regardless of whether the topic was interesting or not, but compared to all the work he recently had to do back in Washington, the meeting was rather relaxing. Despite being tired he had even tried his best - encouraged by Russia and forced by England - to listen closely and take notes.

America was painfully aware that at first other people/nations often perceived him as loud, brash and impatient. But those who knew him better – especially England, Canada, France and Russia – were acutely aware of his seriousness. Especially the last century had changed the young nation a lot and although he still behaved like a child from time to time and came up with ridiculous ideas on what to do about some problems, he had grown a lot.  
Sometimes America just wished he could turn back time so he could just spend a little bit of time not caring about anything and just being free from all the obligations he had to fulfill.

America weakly shook his head against Russias chest. He really didn’t felt like thinking about all of this now. For now he was so too exhausted for such depressing thoughts. Sometimes he found it more than just annoying how his thoughts often wandered to this whenever he felt like this.

Instead he decided to ease his grip and look up to meet these oh so beautiful violet eyes.

“I mean overall we won’t see each other for 20 days! How am I supposed to survive this?”

America tried not to sound too tired nor too desperate for a few moments of happiness with his sort of boyfriend (It was still a bit complicated.) but he couldn't help sounding more dramatic than intended.  
Russia raised an eyebrow. On the one hand he couldn’t help but smile a bit at Americas cheesy tone but on the other he also noticed the slight exhaustion in Alfreds voice.

“You know, _our separation_?! I won’t be able to see my favourite Russian for 20 days. _Please_ just a last shared meal.”

Maybe he had been wrong, Russia thought to himself. This sounded like the typical melodramatic stuff America sometimes just pulled off to tease him. Usually when Russia had to leave or when the American himself was pushed into a plane by Russia as he himself refused to go on board.  
Carefully taking in every detail Russia watched the American in his arms. Sometimes he could be the single most adorable being in the universe, Russia thought to himself.

“I’m sure it won’t kill you”

The Russian teased back. He actually liked the idea of spending some more minutes with America but he also knew that he didn’t had much of a choice this time.  
His boss had asked him to report to him as soon as possible. Meaning Russia had to take the earliest flight back to Moscow and he wouldn’t try his luck pretending he missed the flight at 6.30.  
A quick glance at his watch told him that another minute had passed by.

Russias thoughts came to a halt when he felt the squeeze around his back loosen just to face a puppy eyed American.

“Please, I didn’t even had the opportunity to spend some time with you. Not yesterday nor the day before nor the day before that day nor any other day. The meetings lasted 1 whole week yet I only saw you _at_ the meetings but not _after_ or _before_ them. Not really at least…”

That was true. Russia had been busy with paperwork as well as spending some time with his sister Ukraine since he rarely got the chance to see her without having to worry about increasing tensions under current circumstances. Just being sister and brother for a few moments and not representatives for their countries arguing about each others politics. He missed the old times with her.

America had understood. He himself had been still tired anyway so he ended up mostly sleeping and otherwise chatting with England, Canada and France as usual.

On one day he had tried to stay up a little bit longer so he could steal away a few minutes from his dearest Russian waiting in front of his hotel room. But in the end he had fallen asleep and when he finally woke up he found himself in his own room (to his disappointment) on the next morning.  
The little note (“Morning sleepyhead – I won’t ask why you where sleeping in front of Russias hotel room door. Please just go to _your_ bed if you’re tired”) on his bedside table told him it hadn’t been Russia but Canada who found him and dragged him back into his room.

Nonetheless he was thankful it hadn’t been England. The Brit probably would have left more than a simple note but rather a notebook full of angry instructions on how he should do this and that and that it was inappropriate - oh unspeakable - to sleep in the middle of the hallway. Especially if it was in front of the door of a certain Russian.

France probably would have left him there to see how Russia would react when he would have found him.

Most of the other nations probably would have just woken him up to ask him what he was doing there. He would have denied his original intentions being to embarrassed, instead coming up with some story and then leaving for his own room.

Yes he was indeed grateful it had been Matty and not someone else. Except Russia maybe. He’d have been fine too.  


In the end both nations had barely shared a few minutes together shortly before the first meeting had commenced. And those had been spent catching up and shortly commenting on each others recent political developments.

America knew he was clingy. But so was Russia. The difference being that Russia tried his best not to let his need for the Americans presence show while America had no problem with openly expressing that he wanted Russia to stay. He had also noticed quite a while ago that despite anything what Russia said he seemed to have much less of a problem with that than he'd admit to America.

Russia still gazed into these two bright blue eyes that resembled the sky they both adored so much.

He sighed.

“Okay but please spare me from McDonalds.”

“Thanks big guy”

Americas answer sounded incredibly delighted despite being rather quiet.

“But first i’ll have to pack my things and I believe you too.”

“Nah. I got permission to take one day off following the meeting so i’m just going to stay here till tomorrow afternoon. I could help you though”

Russia smirked at that.

“I didn’t knew you were so keen on cleaning up and packing things.”

A slight red became visible on Americas cheeks from the badinage

“Two persons are better and faster than one I guess”

Russia squeezed the American a little bit to show his approval and then untangled himself from this long lasting embrace.

“Da”

America turned to head for Russias hotel room spying England in the door frame. England just stood there grimacing and looking a bit like he was planning to murder someone this instant. Next to him stood a well known Frenchman grinning like a cheshire cat and his brother clearly trying and failing to drag the two away.

He could have expected that.

England didn’t really hated Russia but he was not “ok” seeing Russia and America so close.  
In Alfreds opinion that was ridiculous since he still felt like he and Russia still weren’t _that close_. To be precisely America had been indeed able to get lots of hugs but he had only been able to steal away two kisses. 2! One on his birthday and one on that evening last fall when Russia had asked him to wait for him. Asked him to accept that for now hugs and some cuddling was all he could offer America as he was not ready yet to speak about so many things, answer all of Alfreds questions and open up to this relationship.  
America hadn’t asked what these _things_ were but there had seemed to be a mutual understanding. The American would be waiting for his Russian.  
But England... Well he had nearly freaked out when he ran into America and Russia when they were holding hands.

Alfred tried his best not to blush while Ivan hid his face in his scarf when they approached the three men.  


“If you’re cold you should wear some warm clothes Alfred.”

Arthur remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm and something that came quite close to chagrin.

“I…uh.. I wasn’t cold I just uhm…”

“Young love”

France observed. Americas face turned pink instantly.

Russia still standing right next to the American took a step forward and laid his hand firmly on Frances shoulder. The Frenchman froze for a second

“I was just talking to America about some upcoming russian space travel missions in which some American astronauts will participate. I also told him that the recent landing of the Soyuz TMA-19M suceeded. - I fear we both were just a little overwhelmed with happiness~”

Ivan smiled at Francis. If one could call the curled lips that gave Russia a rather creepy look a smile that was.

“But i’d be careful not to stick your nose in other people’s business my dear Francia.”

With a firm squeeze Russia made the Frenchman blink nervously for a second until he let go of Frances shoulder.

It wasn’t that Russia really denied that America had become very important to him.  
But nontheless he struggeled to accept his feelings. Yes he liked Alfred a lot but it felt too soon for him. He was just about to get a bit better but it was a slow process and he feared that his precious sunflower might leave him sooner or later anyways.  
He was not ready yet to admit to himself that his feelings for America were way too strong to call it just a close friendship.  
He was not ready to really let America in his life. Not ready to fully open up to him.

Noticing that the Russian seemingly did not know what to do next, America raised his voice again.

“Exactly! So uh what are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you. Isn’t it obvious?”

If looks could kill Russia would have dropped dead at Englands stare.  
Thankfully they couldn't. Furthermor it seemed that either Russia didn't notice or he had just ignored it.

“What?!”

America blurted out with a shrill voice. He cleared his throat.

“Uh I mean why? As far as I know I have no further appointments with any nation for today.”

He continued after composing himself for a brief moment.

“France invited us for a dinner this evening.”

“Uh … I pass?”  
  
“That is not-”

Something flashed across Frances eyes for a second. Britain was just about to say something when France suddendly grabbed his shoulder muttering something along the lines of “Mon dieu now that you mention it I remember mon monsieur président just called this morning letting me know that he awaits my return as soon as possible because of une nouvelle grève à Paris that causes him some troubles“  
Everyone in the room knew that of course that this wasn't the case. And so it was an oddly familiar display seing France dragging England down the hallway while the Brit spit insult after insult at the Frenchman while trying to escape the fierce grip.

Canada sighed in obvious relief.

“Pardon England is currently a bit stressed”

“I noticed”

Commented Russia dryly now with a now nearly blank face.

“Thanks”

America nodded towards Canada and graoned

“God Britain can be so overprotective.”

“Eh...Russia would you mind lending me my brother for a second?”

The Russian fixated his eyes on Americas for a second as if to signalise him that he'd be in his room packing his stuff. Not that there was much too pack.

Alfred gave Ivan a slight nod. Russia gave Canada an approving smile and left the room.

“Russia surely isn't too much of a talker”

Canada remarked at the silent exit of the tall intimidating man. Of course he knew Russia could be quite talkative from time to time but it was the only thing he could think of to ease the akward atmosphere.

“Well he can talk a lot if he wants to, he just usually doesn't.”

“It's fine just a bit weird sometimes because he's pretty unpredictable, you know.”

“Is he??”

America had grown so accustomed to Russias sudden mood changes and other seemingly strange behaviours that he often forgot how peculiar the Russian could behave in the eyes of other nations.

“Yes Alfred he is or at least he _can_ be.”

“Mh guess you're right. - So what do you want to talk about?”

“Eh nothing of importance”

Canada nearly shrieked while trying to swallow the misgiving that had accompanied him throughout the morning.

His brother was just so happy. No, he'd tell him another time.

“Really?”

“It's fine I just-”

Now it was Matthews turn to hug Alfred. He looped his arms around his brother for a second, squeezing America shortly.

“Be careful. Nations need sleep too. - I love you Alfred.”

“I love you too Matty”

America didn't knew what it was that upset his brother but he knew something was wrong. But know was not the time to ask him if Canada was not willing to tell him he would not force him to do so.

He'd ask him later.

“You remember that time when I didn't slept for a week when I played my first video game?”

 

***

Russia was just about to close his suitcase when the door flung open. America smiled widely at him.

He had spent some more time talking to his brother than planned but it just felt so good to just casually speaking about this and that after so much work.

“I’m back.”

America exclaimed

“I can hear that.”

Russia responded dryly. He wasn’t angry at the American for taking his sweet time but he had secretly hoped the other would have been back sooner. It had been foolish. But it had still been a nice thought.

America stepped into the room while Russia locked the black suitcase with a little key. The lock clicked. Russia was just about to get up when suddendly he felt Americas arms against his chest again.The American had akwardly bent down and tried to hug him from behind. Russia let go of the suitcase and started humming lazily laying his own hand on Americas. Sharing each other warmth and bathing in the peaceful silence.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity although it actually had barely been a minute until America glanced at Russias watch and started panicking.

“Oh god it’s already 5.28! We have to hurry now or else we might not make it in time.”

Russia squeezed Americas hand a last time before they untangled themselves and stood up ready to leave the hotel.

 

***  


America was bad at goodbyes. He didn’t wanted Russia to leave just now. They had spent only such a small amount of time together.

Just some minutes ago America sat next to Russia holding Ivans hand as tightly as he could without hurting the other. Although he did left white marks on them. Thankfully they had faded quickly.  
A tad earlier they had setteled on buying some waffles to eat before Russias plane would take off. Afterall they were still in Belgium.  
When they arrived at the airport (6 o'clock) they knew there was little time left nonetheless America refused to go already.  
While Alfred devoured one waffle after another, Russia just ate one.  
Alfred had talked about how delicious the food was and Russia had just sat next to him and listened.

Russia pulled America into a last embrace. When Russia let go America decided it this was his perfect chance. Pulling the Russian down by his scarf and he gave him a rushed yet sweet kiss.

“That makes 3”

America smirked while Russias face turned red. Russia instantly pulled back from America burying his face in his scarf like he always did.  
For a moment the two just stood like that as if it was forgotten that Russia needed to get on board until speakers announced that the last passengers should hurry on board now since plane would take off in a few minutes.

Russia cleared his throat.

“Do svidaniya Alfred”

“Goodbye big guy”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- in this fic Russia and America are already sort of a couple (but it’s not really what you could call an established relationship)
> 
> \- Iryna is one of the names Himayura actually suggested for Ukraine (though it’s not 100% canon) and therefore i’m going with that one instead of Katyusha
> 
> \- sorry for the many interjections I just don’t know anyone who’s not using interjections now and then soo.. (I just think they make a dialouge more realistic)  
> \+ if you didn’t knew Uh/Uhm (US english) is the same as Euh (french) Eh (canadian french/english) or Er (british)
> 
> \- mon président – my president  
> mon dieu – (oh) my god  
> une nouvelle grève à Paris – a new strike in Paris  
> (these should be correct but if they’re not please let me know my french is not the best despite learning it at school)
> 
> \- this is my first english fanfic (my mother tongue is German and i’m not sure whether all of this is correct and i have no confidence in my language “skills” whatsoever)  
> so please please correct me if I made any mistakes
> 
> \- i’m probably going to use a tiny bit of russian which i’ll write in latin letters instead of cyrillic  
> Nyet – No  
> Da – Yes (in case you didn’t knew)
> 
> \- The Soyuz TMA-19M spacecraft touched down in Kazakhstan at 9:13 p.m. EDT Tuesday (0113 GMT Wednesday) (13./14.9.2016) on board two Russians and one American


	2. Chapter 2

The air outside of the airport in Moscow was freezing. A gentle yet icy breeze accompanied Russia when he stepped outside of the airport. Some sporadic snowflakes fell on his coat but melted instantly upon touching the still warm cloth. Although the sky was still realtively clear, throughout his life he had learnt not to underestimate General Winter.

Russia pulled up his scarf hiding his abhorred huge nose tip. America claimed he loved Russia’s face just the way it was, but on the other hand America was quick to declare his love for anything.

Even for Russia.

It had been shortly before Americas last birthday when he confessed his feelings to Russia.

They were talking – or actually it had been mostly Russia himself - about the newest research concerning Mars, when seemingly out of the blue the American had suddendly said these sweet three little words. He had just sat there across the table propping up his chin with a dreamy look on his face gazing into Russia’s eyes.

If Russia wouldn’t had nearly fallen off his chair in shock upon hearing America’s startling confession, he probably would have just returned Americas gaze, but instead he struggeled not to get up and leave the room overwhelmed by embarrassment and confusion.

After composing himself for a second, Russia had tried his best to resume to elaborate on the newly token pictures of Mars’s surface. He knew he had failed.

 

The second time America declared his love for the Russian had been on the 4th  July - America’s birthday.

Yet again Russia had been completely stunned but unlike the last time, when America had just been looking at him, this time America had closed the space between them before Russia had any chance to start panicking.

It was their first kiss and if it hadn’t been America’s birthday Russia probably would have knocked America down and fled. The kiss had felt nice actually despite his heart hammering against his chest as if it was to break his ribs any second. But the feeling that he had lost control over the situation made his thoughts run wild until America parted from him.

Sure there were times when Russia kissed people to greet them but it had never meant anything.

 

Ever since America was not getting tired of declaring his love for the Russian over and over again. Not that he was constantly running around Russia telling him that he loved him, that’d be embarrassing for both of them, but every once in a while, regardless of the situation, America would assure Russia of his feelings.

 

A feeling of guilt stung Russia. He knew America was acutely aware of the Russian’s own incompetence to express any _real_ feelings, but he had seen the nearly invisible pleading look in America’s eyes. There was no reason to deny that America was secretly waiting for Russia to finally respond to his unanswered question.

 

Russia shook his head, snowflakes gently falling from his hair unto his shoulders. Realising he had stood right in front of the entrance to the airport the whole time, he resumed walking, keeping an eye out for the nearest taxi.  
Now was really not the time to think about any of this.  
Upon spotting one of the yellow cars, he slightly changed his direction, walking up to the taxi driver.

Forty-five minutes later Russia found himself in front of the Kremlin. Usually it took him only thirty-five minutes but on the other hand Russia never drove to the Kremlin around this time nor was he ever able to get back home so “early”.

The newly fallen layer of snow crunched under his feet when he headed for one of the many buildings in which only governmental figures, special guests such as foreign ministers and he himself were allowed and were the bureau of his leader could be found.

 

***

America stared at his phone scrolling up and down his messages, waiting for a response from his brother. Initially he had planned to convince Russia to stay just a little longer and to spend the following day or at least the next morning together with him in Brussels, but that clearly failed.

A loud annoyed sigh escaped his lips earning him a look from the woman sitting at the table next to his own.

After Russia’s plane had taken off, he went to the airport cafe, praying his brother had some time for him to spare. But also hoping that Canada could pick him up because America had noticed a little late that since he had left all of his belongings in the hotel room, he had no money with him. Russia had paid for the food anyway, so America only realised that was the case when the Russian was already gone.

America knew the hotel wasn’t too far from the airport but it was already dark outside and he wasn’t particularly interested in walking around in sheer darkness.

He hated being stuck like this.

A beeping sound informed the American that he “needed to recharge” his phone soon if he wanted to be able to receive any message at all.

Great that had been exactly what he needed.

The evening could have been so nice but instead he was stuck in the airport cafe and bored to death. America wished he would have thought about this scenario earlier.

Laying his phone aside, he once again looked around the cafe.

It was relatively new – or at least it looked as if it was – and the furniture was quite modern. The room was filled with several round tables and simplistic chairs. At one end of the room one could find the sales counter decorated with some - mainly Belgian - flags, although he had spotted the familiar stars and stripes earlier on too.

Several types of gum and chocolate bars as well as some other small packages of sweets were displayed alongside baked goods such as cakes and buns.

America’s stomach rumbled. Sure the waffles from earlier had satisfied him, nonetheless at the sight of a very delicious chocolate cake he felt as if he hadn’t eaten anything in days.

Averting his gaze from the sales counter he spotted a newspaper rack filled with evening editions that could be read for free in the cafe and some magazines that he would have needed to pay for to unwrap them. But without any money that was out of question.

If the free newspapers weren’t German, Dutch, French and Flemish he probably would have read one of them but he felt too tired to read in another language.

He should have ordered a coke or a coffee earlier instead of a regular soda without caffeine. The lack of a bright sky really wearied him.

A yawn escaped Americas lips and he straightened up in his seat, strechting his body, hoping he could avoid falling asleep in the cafe.

 

Suddendly America’s phone started playing the first notes of  “Let it snow”. Finally Canada must had written him back.

But no, instead it the display told him that England had texted him.

Well better than nothing, sure asking England to pick him up would result in England complaining about how unresponsible he always was, but right now everything seemed better than falling asleep in the middle of an airport.

 

[Iggy; 9.13]

Where are you? - I hope you didn’t had the crazy idea to accompany Russia and fly with him to Moscow.  
Germany asked me whether I knew where you where. He wanted to talk to you about sth concerning trade between his and your nation. I told him you would come back soon but he’s been waiting for two and a half hours and now he’s running up and down the hallway murmuring to himself.  
It annoys the hell out of everyone (who’s still here) so could you move your a** over here?!

 

America snarled at his phone. Maybe sleeping in the airport wouldn’t be the worst way to end this day.

Nontheless he decided to just remit his earlier message to England.

The answer came immediately.

 

[Iggy; 9.17]

I’m not even going to ask you why you where foolish enough to leave your stuff at the hotel.  
Where exactly are you? I will be there in a jiffy.

 

Alfred simply typed:

  
[Alfred; 9.18]

rn in cafe  
will wait at entrance  
cu

 

Earning him the angry answer:

 

[Iggy; 9.19]

Could you at least try to write in sentences and not ruin MY language?

 

[Alfred; 9.21]

didn’t u stole like ½ from Francis?

 

To which he got no response.

Instead he got up and headed for the entrance or in his case exit.

The automatic doors opened when he approached them and the cool air from outside sent shivers down his spine.  
He decided to stay inside for the remaining time, scrolling through some of his pictures on his phone and occasionally deleting one. Now that he no longer awaited a message it didn’t really matter whether his cell would run out of energy or not.

To his own surprise England even arrived before the display went black.

 

“Good lord I’m not your babysitter.”, was probably the nicest thing he got to hear on the ride back to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find spelling or grammatical errors that you want me to correct please contact me via askbox or messenger  
> That’d be very nice of you :)
> 
> \- i actually googled how long it takes you to get from the Moscow international airport to the kremlin and it’s really just 31min  
> \- but the cafe is not real as you might have guessed already  
> \- flemish is the third official language spoken primarly in southern Belgium  
> \- there’s no English newspaper bc i didn’t wanted any to be there but in reality it’s very likely (it’s brussels afterall)  
> \- Yep America saved England as Iggy; England saved America as Alfred (so boring)  
> \- if you haven’t seen the new pictures of Mars yet you should really google it  
> \- the trade thing can actually be anything but it’s a very very slight reference to TTIP (though not really bc TTIP is negotiated between the EU and the US and not just Germany and the US)  
> \- it’s true that the English language is heavinly inspired by French (though i probably exaggerated)  
> \- in the story it’s currently november/october  
> (+ before you ask: i’m not going to involve any current political issue/election/etc if it’s possible while i might make references to other news that hopefully should not be offensive to anyone)
> 
> \- my characters are probably thinking a tad too much…. i’m very sorry for that i’ll try not to write too much focussed upon trivial thoughts - But please tell me if it annoys you then i’ll try to shorten it (i just think that all nations are relatively thoughtful; might be some exceptions for those who’re really young (like eg Sealand))


	3. Chapter 3

When Russia awoke the next morning his body felt stiff. Lifting his head he realized why. Yet again he had fallen asleep on his desk.

Mumbling to himself Russia slowly stretched himself. Getting up from his chair he walked towards the curtain currently preventing any sunlight from brightening the room.

Russia pulled the curtains back but to his disappointment he wasn't greeted by even the slightest light. Instead a rather dark, grey and clouded sky welcomed him.

A sigh escaped his lips. He had always hated how the sky would remain dark for most of the day during this time of the year. Not that there was much he could do.

Rolling his shoulders, tensing and relaxing some muscles Russia went back to his desk to examine the documents and papers which were spread all over it.

He wasn't exactly sure when he had fallen asleep last night but at least a quick glance at the clock told him it was 7.28 in the morning. Way too late for his taste.

From what Russia could see it seemed like he made it through half of the documents last night so he probably hadn't been sleeping for too long afterall.

Russia picked up the yellow-orange notebook which he used for keeping track of his schedule to figure out whether there would be any important meeting today. Not that he ever forgot about those but the notebook also served the rather important purpose of being used for his notes during each of these meetings.

 

For years Russia had always used dark-blue or black notebooks – he prefered unobtrusive colours for these kind of things – until America gave him this one.

Back when the American gave it to him his first reaction was nothing but an immediate shock. No one ever bought him gifts except for Belarus and Ukraine for his birthday.

Russia had raised his eyebrows at America not sure what to say about the gift. A part of him had wanted to just thank America, hug, maybe even kiss him but the restrained half had told him to just act casual, polite and friendly. But being so indesicive he had just stood there as if he was frozen in the end struggling to decide what to do.

When Russia hadn't reacted America had been quite embarrassed trying to explain his gift. About how he had noticed how Russia had been flipping through his notebook earlier on searching for some free space to write on and that he had seen this one and thought it'd be a nice gift. America had also commented on the colour interjecting that he had chosen the colour because it had reminded him a bit of Russia's beloved sunflowers.

Russia had been blushing furiously at that and then ended America's ongoing stuttering by embracing the American tightly.

Russia hadn't been sure on whether or not to panic back then when he felt his heart rate going up as if he was running for his life instead of what he was actually doing, just standing there the American in his arms.

It had been the first time Russia had felt like this, chest tightening, feeling shaky and somehow overjoyed as if his heart could explode from pure happiness any second.

 

Russia skipped through the pages - smiling at the sweet memory - until he reached the current date. Fortunately there really appeared to be no meetings for the next 3 days.

Although he was sure that he could expect to receive a lot more documents, agreements and reports within these days.

Carefully putting down the notebook Russia sat down and began to reorganise his desk.

 

***

  
America lazily flipped through the pages of a newspaper he had bought earlier when he was buying himself a cappuccino.

After America had arrived at the hotel with England Germany had no longer been pacing up and down the hallway. Instead Prussia waited in the hotel lounge. He complained about his brother and how he had to convince him to go to bed for a while – although England as well as America knew that most of his nagging wasn't serious – before handing Alfred a note from Ludwig that he'd meet the other in the conference room tomorrow at 8 o'clock.

Sipping at the invigorating beverage he half-heartedly scanned the headlines. Ludwig was a nice guy but Alfred just couldn't figure out why he always had to start working so early. But he was sure that he personally would have prefered working at a humane time which clearly excluded 8.00 am.

After 5 more minutes Ludwig arrived at 7.50 in the conference room.

He clearly was surprised to see Alfred being already there. But he generally seemed rather delighted.

 

“Good morning America”

 

“Mornin' Lud. So what did you wanted to talk about?”

 

***  
  


For about 3 hours Germany kept on talking about several products and substances and how America would need to inform his leader once again about some newly banned ones.

In the end America really didn't understood why _he_ should convey these informations to his leaders but he decided not to question Germany.

 

America groaned now that this meeting was finally over – so much for a day off – his mood had considerably dropped. Returning back to his room and staring at the wall America reminisced about his isolation policy before world war two changed his role completely.

He wasn't missing the feeling of loneliness he had known so well back then but it had been nice not to carry as much responsibility as he had to by now. Life had been … easier.

On the one hand America enjoyed being more than just 'that nation across the atlantic' for everyone but on the other hand he felt like nowadays he was bound by more and more things and that his role as a nation had somehow become a lot more complicated.

The same applied to his relations with other countries.

 

He would always remember Russia's eyes when he came to visit him in 1870s a period of time when the nations had been very close friends.  
When America showed him the beautiful wide lands, the golden fields and the sunlight sparkling on the water at the coasts Russia had looked thrilled, contented and somehow even childlike.

As far as America could recall this it had been the first time when he caught a glimpse at a part of Russia that the nation himself so insistently tried to hide. A side so beautiful and fragile it seemed odd on the Russian at first but somehow fit him better than anything else probably could.

A incredibly warm and calm smile had spread across his face, his eyes wide and with gleaming violett orbs Russia had just took in every sensation.

 

But things had changed between him and Russia since these days. Maybe history could have gone another way if a few things had been different but there wasn't anything America could do about it and his still relatively new role on the world stage or rather at the center of the world stage.

Not that his role as a nation had been easy prior to the 20th century but sometimes he missed these earlier times even if it was partially nothing but irrational.

 

Therefore America was very enthusiastic that recently Russia showed this smile again. And although not often and usually very briefly America cherished these moments.

It also were these moments when America was fairly certain the Russian loved him.

Yet at other moments he wondered what exactly the Russian felt for him.

 

He had once tried to figure out when and why he fell for Russia.

Surprisingly it had been Canada who asked him these questions first and not he himself.

The two brothers had spent a few days off together and reflecting upon these days America had realized that he probably had been talking about Russia quite some time or that his brother must have felt that something concerning Russia was bugging America. Canada always seemed to understand people a lot better than some understood themselves.

And although Alfred had told Canada that he developed his crush recently America wasn't sure himself. He still could not put his finger on it.

He knew back in the 1870s Russia had still been nothing more than a close friend to him. Regardless of that America felt as if his feelings to Russia developed prior to his name and role change into the Soviet Union and not just 'recently'.

But then things had been “complicated” for a long time.

If complicated was a term that could be used to express a relation between two people that changed from “I'd love to see you dead” to “I'm glad we try to give our friendship a second try” and back to “You should just die”.

 

Shaking his head America tried to shift away his thoughts to pretty much anything else other than politics. At least for now.

 

America pulled out his cell from the left pocket of his dark-brown leather jacket, plugged in his earphones and began humming along the music when the first title started playing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much to say about this one :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive :D  
> I'm really sorry for delaying this but life hit me like a ton of bricks in the recent weeks and i just didn't had the time to do anything that i was originally planning on doing.

A thin layer of dust had settled on the front page of the black folder lying on the right side of the wooden desk. Like dozens of microscopical waltzing couples dust particles danced in the dimmed light of the desk lamp. Swirling down in a slow manner to rest upon cyrillic letters written on papers sprawled all over the other half of the table.  
  
It was around 4 o'clock but the sun had already set on Moscow.

The dark blue sky was still lacking any starlight and the moon hadn't shown up either.

The shining argentine planet – although Russia of course knew the moon wasn't emitting any light itself – would paint the streets in a silvery light while businessmen and -women would cross streets,  young people would talk on their phone pacing up and down the pavement and others would just enjoy an evening promenade.

Russia huffed looking at the clock and wishing it was already late enough to leave and get back to his house.  
The Kremlin was a quite magnificent building without doubt but Russia often found himself feeling lonely and numb when staying for a longer time, especially when he spend several hours in office rooms. The larger pompous golden rooms and halls were reserved for meetings with nations and foreign leaders.  
Russia didn't like staying in them anyway. Not if it was for political reasons. It reminded him too often of his tsars and empire, for decades he chose to deliberately avoid thinking about his past while being around another person.  
  
Groaning Russia stretched in his chair. His muscles had become tense due to the long sitting and exerting and relaxing them had proved itself to be somewhat useful over the time.

After just two days of work he had finally caught up with what he – according to his leader – had ‘missed’ while attending the world meeting. Only the black folder was left.  
Russia settled back into a somewhat comfortable position and opened it.

Scanning the first document Russia determined it was a collection of records concerning military equipment and deployment as well as training of several troops.

On the second page different devices, guns and other weaponry planned for production in the upcoming month were listed.  
Skimming over the list one word caught Russia's attention.  
  
Podsolnukh radar – Sunflower radar  
  
He read the line again and again. Until...  
  
***  
  
America had just decided to take a break after his early morning meeting.  
Walking down the broad hallway to leave the White House and get some baked goods somwhere, he pulled out his phone.  
A picture of the Orion Nebula greeted him – he had taken hours in choosing which one he'd like to set as his lock screen – as he unlocked the screen.  
  
42 messages and 1 missed call  
  
He really should have gotten up earlier he thought to himself since most messages had been sent before 7am, mostly from several European Nations contacting him on this or that.  
Yet America found himself disappointed when he scrolled through the messages and realized that one person in particular hadn't texted him.  
Russia  
Normally Russia sent him short messages like 'Good morning Alfred' and 'Good Night Amerika'. And unlike everyone else he actually sent them at appropriate times.  
Alfred once wondered whether Russia never slept or whether he got up so early when he got messages in the evening considering Moscow being 7 hours ahead in time.  
Russia had shrugged it off and never really answered the question.  
  
America dismissed his 'concerns'. Russia would probably text later.  
  


Canada had called at 6.52am.  
America decided to call his brother back as soon as he had eaten something.  
All the while America had just left the building.  
Heading for the next bakery he flipped through the other messages and took mental notes of the important ones whilst humming a catchy song he had heard this morning while driving to work.  
  
***  
  
The smell of vodka stung in Russia's nostrils. His body felt limp except for his throat which burned like a hellfire.  
  
Wait that was wrong.  
He should not been drinking at work.  
He never did.  
Not since the new restrictive laws were put in place a few years ago.  
  
Blinking his eyes open, he found himself staring at the ceiling. But not the one of his office but the one he would stare at every morning when he woke up from another restless night.  
Russia lay on his bed, the blankets and cushions no longer placed on it.  
It didn't took a mastermind to identify the crumpled sheets as one origin of the vodka smell.  
  
Slowly Russia tried to lift himself up from the bed, but he felt too dizzy to follow through with his plan. Instead he only lifted up his torso and now leant on his elbows being able to see a bit more of the room.  
There was indeed vodka.  
Several bottles – Russia guessed it were 5 but his vision was slightly blurry which made the counting quite hard considering that the bottles were made from white and not coloured glass – lay on the floor and a shattered one next to his body.  
At least that explained the smell.  
Just now Russia saw a deep redish spot staining the white sheets leading all the way to were his hands had touched the cloth before he had woken up.  
  


Letting himself fall into the sheets again he slowly brought his right hand to his eyes.  
Glass shards were stuck in his palm and a few even in his wrist. His hand was covered in dryed blood smelling like rust yet not enough to match the vodka aroma hanging in the air.  
Yet somehow everything seemed unreal to the Russian, as if his hand wasn't even his.  
Resigned Russia dropped his arm.  
He had absolutely no idea on how he ended up here.  
  
***  
  
Hours had passed and Russia had finally gained some control over his body again.   
After inspecting his room, he was now sure that he indeed drank all of the alcohol except the amount that had soaked his bed sheets.  
Russia rarely got drunk but judging from the biting headache that plagued him since the numbness had gotten less he had been just a few hours ago.  
Calculating the time between his last glance on the clock in his office and the time his phone displayed he had missed five hours. He tried to remember what exactly happened while cleaning his room and opening its windows – because despite the icy cold outside the vodka smell had become more of a stench the clearer his mind became – but it was hopeless.  
It was as if someone had erased the last hours from his memory.  
  
Russia was just about to cram the bed sheets into the laundry basket, when the scales fell from his eyes.  
He had switched.  
His alter had been present once again. After so many years of surpressing it as much as he could, he was hunted by this yet again.  
  
***  
  
[Alfred; 2.21am]  
  
Hey big guy sth wrong? Sorta worried bout u  
text me back k?  
  
***  
  
Alfred sat in a iron coloured leather swivel chair, nervously twitching.  
He had really tried to concentrate on the documents covering his desk and he probably would have if the Russian finally texted back.  
He had sent his message an hour ago and although it must have been past midnight in Moscow at that point, he expected Ivan to text back by now. Afterall he normally would send text messages around this time anyways.  
Most of the day had passed by without any noteable events. At 7 pm he had left the White House bought himself a hamburger at the next McDonalds and drove back to his appartment.  
He had watched a few episodes of the old cartoon x-men series until he had decided to finish some leftover paperwork he had brought home.  
Only when he turned off the TV and glanced at his phone he had started to worry.  
He rarely spent all day long thinking about Ivan but somehow the absence of the seemingly obligatory messages worried him sick.  
There had been no bad news concerning the large country – at least he did not knew of any – and therefore this clearly was something personal.  
  
Restless Alfred decided to get up and go to bed.  
It was of no use anyway to stay up late if he would just end up being sleepy throughout the next day.  
  
 _Maybe he really had forgotten this ritual today and was sleeping at this time for once._  
  
But the nagging thought that something was wrong stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m incredibly sorry for delaying this for so long but here it is.  
> This chapter is a bit short but i rlly wanted to end this here
> 
> Notes:
> 
> \- The restrictive laws:  
> Russia currently implements a variety of anti-alcoholism measures (banning spirits and beer trade at night, raising taxes, and other). According to medicine officials, these policies result in a considerable fall of alcohol consumption volumes, to 13.5 litres by 2013, and wine and beer taking over spirits as the main source of consumed alcohol. In 2010, (then) Russian President Dmitry Medvedev nearly doubled the minimum price of a bottle of vodka in an effort to combat the problem.  
> High volume alcohol consumption is also closely linked to the suicide rates in Russia.
> 
> \- So the Podsolnukh (Sunflower) is indeed a russian radar that has been developed rather recently. It’s a so called short-range over-the-horizon surface-wave radar. I could tell you a bit more about it but i probably could just copy from other articles (bc i have no idea of military equipement whatsoever, i came across this by accident) so if you want to read more about it you can just google it.
> 
> \- Moscow’s 7 hours ahead of Washington DC
> 
> \- The Orion Nebula is one of the most famous nebulas and it’s just gorgeous.
> 
> \- The old cartoon X-Men series is brilliant. And it’s making me very nostalgic and i just had to put it in here.
> 
> \- Also as in the first chapter the name showing up above the text message is the name Ivan has saved Alfreds contact as and the time is given according to /his/ timezone.
> 
> Additionally:  
> So I spent quite some time reading more about Dissociative identity disorder because although i knew quite some things it can never harm and if anyone knows very good articles i’d be happy to look into them too.  
> I’m currently still reading a book about it and another about how to help persons with DID but that should not lead to delaying the upcoming chapters.  
> BUT if anyone feels offended or if someone thinks i’m not treating DID appropriately i’d welcome any discussions and ideas to improve the story and handle the topic in an appropriate way.  
> Furthermore I’m writing from own experience, so my writing is also influenced by people i met who indeed have DID.


	5. Chapter 5

The digital watch around his wrist showing 12:38 glared accusingly at America as he glanced at it. He had arrived early at work this morning. Not because he had gotten up earlier but rather because he barely slept at all. During the night he found himself waking up at 3 am after sleeping for no longer than 2 hours. Unable to go back to bed, he went to the White House before the sun had fully risen. Yet he hadn't even signed a single document.

After two days without any message from Russia had passed and he had been in an increasingly worried and stressed state.

He had already sent about 50 messages but had received no response.  
He shouldn't get so worked up over nothing. Afterall it was Russia.  
  


America circled his desk once again, being unable to sit still he had been pacing up and down his small office room all morning.

On the one hand he was aware that he would need to start working again if he didn't wanted to fall behind his schedule again.

This was getting ridiculous he thought to himself. Yet whenever he picked up a document it didn't take long until his thoughts wandered towards the Russian again.

After his initial assumption that Russia must have simply forgotten their ritual, America had become more upset with each hour passing by.  
His leader had already told him that this would need to stop. Although America didn't explain what exactly caused his distress it seemed like his boss had figured it out rather easily.

Alfred knew his apprehension had gone too far by know, but not even playing a video game had helped. (Why did he had to pick Tetris in the first place?)

  
Running his fingers through his as of now disheveled wheat coloured hair and chewing on his lip, America unlocked his cell yet again.  
Sure he would have heard any incoming text but what if i had missed one afterall? _  
_ But of course there were no new messages displayed when he opened the application. Or at least no new ones from Russia. Resigned he lay his cell on the desk again.  
If Russia wasn't in serious trouble he'd be given the greatest tongue-lashing ever.

A frustrated sigh escaped Americas lips and he slipped into his office chair just to get up a second later again.

At this rate he'd be going insane.

Maybe he should call his brother once more? At least that had calmed him yesterday. But Canada probably wouldn't be very pleased with it. Well but it was an emergency afterall wasn't it? No he should probably not call Canada during his worktime.

America furrowed his brows and groaned. Why couldn't Russia just answer?

  
***  
  
The room was barely lit. The heavy velvet curtains looked like someone had been about to draw them but had stopped in the midst of doing so. The air was thick and warm, yet too dry to be pleasant.

Russia sat huddled on the ground clinging to his knees and hiding away from every curious gaze. Not that there was any person that might have seen him. He had locked his office door this morning.  
After immediately the incident two days ago Russia had resumed to his normal schedule. It was out of question whether or not he should tell his leader anything. It had been a mistake in the past and he would not be so foolish again.

Russia was visibly shaking and shivering despite the hot air that was filling the room. Ever since he woke up to find himself in between all those vodka bottles he was haunted by his thoughts.

Just days ago when he sat in the airport holding Americas hand and listening to his cheery remarks about this and that, he had thought to himself that maybe this whole thing really had only been a phase. But it hadn't.

 

Back when Russia first heard voices in his head that were clearly not his own he had been the Soviet Union. He had just considered this to be a phenomenon at first, triggered by his new role representing several countries instead of just one. Only when he mentioned it once towards England during the war and received an irritated look, Russsia had realized it wasn't. He had hoped to get assurance from the country that ruled over so many others. Instead Russia was confronted with the fact that this wasn't just an empire thing. It had been a lucky circumstance that England had been drunk that night and obviously forgot about it.  
After the war when Russia finally had a few spare hours to think about it, he realized just how ridiculous the whole situation was. He had been an empire before ruling over other countries without them vanishing. Yet back in those days he hadn't had these voices accompanying him.

 

Now it seemed they were back again.

 

His thoughts kept on spinning and inside of his head voices argued amongst each other. It was exhausting.

Russia hadn't been so affected by this since Stalin. And back then he had done everything he could think of to surpress all of the different impulses he got from these voices. Often dismissing or ignoring them regardless of how fierce they echoed through his head.

Actually the voices had become rare in the last the years. Or maybe they just had been 'quieter'.

 

Russia took in a deep breath.

He had to calm and finish his work. Then he could go home. 

_ Breath out. _

But he could not let anyone in the Kremlin know of this. Of course he should trust his government but he just didn't. Too often he had been proved wrong in his faith.

_ Breath in. _

Russia slowly untangled himself from the fetus position he had been in while trying not to panic or lose his temper. He couldn't quite tell. 

_ Breath out. _

Maybe both.

_ Breath in. _

He slowly lifted himself from the ground while clinging to the edge of his desk as if he would fall if he was to let go of it.

_ Breath out. _

Fully standing Russia realised just how stiffling the room was.

_ Breath in. _

He should open a window. The cold wouldn't bother him that much anyways.

_ Breath out. _

Russia proceded to open a window and slowly seated himself in the chair behind his desk.

Now was not the time to be caught up in these inner conflicts.

After nearly five minutes he had calmed down. The voices were still arguing and telling him what or what not to do. But they were no longer so loud and resounding.

 

***  
  
The smell of apple pie greeted America when he entered the small bakery. A bell was attached to the wall just above the door and rang when he pushed the door open. 

A young woman entered through a door leading to the back of the shop. She was quite beautiful with her dark brown curly hair usually tied back in a ponytail and fierce green eyes with golden springes in them. She was generally charming but as America had learned she could also be direct, even blunt if she wanted to.

Throughout the last year ever since she opened the bakery he had befriended her and ever since he tried to drop by at least once a week.

Now Bessy – her nickname – didn't know he was the personification of the very country she lived in but she was aware that he held some important office in the White House. He often came here during his lunch breaks after stressful meetings.

A small round table stood in a corner of the bakery and was plunged into the last remainders of the summer as the few sun rays were reflected by the plain yet elegant surface of said table. Two simple chairs made from white wood stood across from each other. Normally America would stay to talk a bit but currently his thoughts were still unremittingly circling around Russia.

Instead he just ordered a sandwich (with eggs, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and mayonaise – not his favourite but better than nothing) and a piece of cheese cake.

Hastily taking out his wallet and paying Bessy gave him a questioning look. America endeavoured to give her a reassuring smile but judging from her raised eyebrow failed miserably.

He waved her goodbye and left the bakery. Although he looked back at the table for a second thinking about just how nice it could be to just have some small talk with Bessy but since he knew he'd only talk about this one thing he decided not to complain to her about it. It would have been rather complicated anyway since he had told her Russia was a close friend that visited him sometimes but never that the man he had been telling her so many stories about and how much he loved that very man was the Russian. Technically he probably shouldn't have told her about Russia at all but he had mentioned the other countries as well, making up as little as possible.  
The bell above the door rang again when the door closed behind him.  
  
Lost in thought America walked around the city instead of returning to his office as he initially planned to. It was not until he reached the airport that he realised where his subconscious had carried his legs.

Moscow it was then.

 

***  
  
Still in his office Russia scribbled notes in his yellow-orange notebook. He should have gone home hours ago but he could not stop working. It was as if the straight-forward task that at least currently didn't required too much thought except assessing logical facts and how they correlated with whatever it was that the document covered.  
His eyes burned from all the work and dry though no loger hot air. Rubbing his bridge and eyes for a second before returning to the paper he currently read.  
His cell started to vibrate and dangerously moved towards the edge of the desk. Russia grabbed the device but after seeing it was America put it aside again although he muted it beforehand.

He could not describe why but he felt as if it was impossible for him to talk the American at the moment.

This morning he nearly called but then a harsh biting thought made itself known.

_ He's just playing with you again. He doesn't care for anything but himself. He just calls to humiliate you. _

Russia knew these were irrational. America wasn't just ''playing with him'', was he?  
But a part of him told him otherwise feeding him with all sorts of toxic thoughts about the American throughout the last days. Russia tried his best to push them aside. He liked America. Liked him very much. Yet they wouldn't disappear. Sometimes Russia could hardly distinguish between what he thought and what seemed to be one of the voices in his head.

Several times within recent hours he had just blankly stared at the wall not thinking anything or forgetting immediately what he contemplated seconds ago. Seemingly drifting out of conscious for a few minutes.

 

Russia's grip around the pen in his hand tightened and he nearly snapped the thing into two when he gained focus again. There was work to be done and since it seemed that work was the only thing being able to prevent him from permanently being occupied with his mind, he prefered the option over going home and resting. He could not rest with his mind turning into a turmoil and the constant reminders of text messages and calls that he should talk to America.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much to add here except that the war Russia referes to is of course the second World War.  
> I really hope that so far I adress the topic appropriately bc i really don't want to offend anyone and as i said this is heavinly based on my experiece with DID, what friends of mine who also have DID told me and what I read in books and the internet.  
> If anything does offedn you i'd like to encourage you to contact me so I can change things if it's required.


	6. Chapter 6

His glasses instantly steamed up when the automatic doors opened and an icy breeze blew towards America. Right that was the one and only reason he sometimes hated winter. America took off his glasses and rubbed them somewhat dry with the sleeve of his coat. Unfortuantely the coat clearly wasn't meant to be used for such purposes and so America's vision was now longer as clear as usual but rather blurry. But at least he could see something.

 

It was not even december yet but Moscow already looked like a winter wonderland from one of the many christmas movies America always enjoyed to watch around this time.

The sidewalk was covered in a thin layer of snow, although at the edge a snow dune stretched alongside the road. Cars appeared to be sleeping underneath white bedsheets. Some frozen formations stretched over the glass of the doors America just passed through. The street itself was free of any snow but was clearly wet from the the frozen flakes that must have layed there before melting from all of the cars driving on the street. Sure the lights and christmas decoration was missing as in Russia christmas wasn't celebrated in december and also as England once put it christmas in Europe was 'sober' compared to Americas traditions of hanging christmas lights in every place possible.  
Breathing white clouds into the cold air America began to realize just how cold it actually was. America sighed when he remembered how he had forgotten any of his gloves in Washington. The icy wind caressed his cheekbones and made him shudder. He pulled his dark blue winter jacket tighter around himself. He was more than glad that Russia had bought him this one for last christmas otherwise America assumed he would would have been frozen instantly when stepping out of the comforting warmth of the airport.  
The snow crunched under America's feet as he left the parking lot he had been standing on and stepped on the snow covered sidewalk. Originally he had decided to walk as he was relatively sure that around this time Russia would still be working but now feeling his fingers turning into ice America chose not to and to take one of the metro trains. On the other hand now he could spend some time marvelling at the beautiful stations underneath the cities surface.

Russia had showed him each station just a few months ago when America had travelled to the country to attend a few meetings alongside his and Russia's leader. He had told him stories about the pictures and the gorgeous stucco or talked about how it was the first underground railway system of the Soviet Union.

America always felt as if in Russia half of the buildings were palaces of monarchs, although Russia had reminded him more than once that he didn't had kings but tsars. Usually at that point America would try to switch the topic because he had learned that afterall and even though he could not understand it at all Russia still had a strange and inexplicable attachement to former rulers like the Romanovs. And the topic of the political system of the other was rather delicate for both of them.

The station closest to the airport was 'Zyablikovo' and so America headed for the station which he still had to walk to to get on the lime line (10) and into the centre of of the city. Humming and with his rather small bag (a sports bag from the Chicago Cubs) slung over his shoulder America walked towards the direction in which he would find the station.

***  
  
Russia had several houses and flats although by far not as many as America. He also used them a lot less frequently but still. America had once asked Russia why he had those houses and flats if he wasn't spending time there anyways and why he had never taken him there. America knew that in Siberia, in the midst of the tundra strechting across huge parts of the northern territories, Russia had some form of living place. But when he had asked Russia to take him there during the summer when the climate in Siberia wasn't below zero for once Russia had refused his request. Or at least that's how America interpreted the lack of any response.

 

Of course he could not know that what he believed to be a living place of some form was actually a former Gulag. After the camps were closed Russia had bought this one under a false name. Throughout his life or rather his existence as a nation he had never come to terms with his past. Whenever he thought about it he felt as if he was caught up in an endless struggle to become a better nation for his citizens just to end up in a situation worse than before. He visited the places that reminded him of his mistakes and failures and the cruelty of some of his leaders at least once a year to pay a tribute to his many children that starved or froze to death, were beaten bloody or until they could no longer walk and those that he could never save. Rarely Russia allowed anyone to accompany him. Once he had secretly traveled to Ukraine in the 90s to commemorate Holodomor but ever since their political relations had gone sour this was out of question. A few times he had taken Belarus and Ukraine with him on his trip to Siberia but in the recent years Russia had preferred to be by himself.  
But of course America could not possibly know any of this.

  
Once when the Russian had been distracted America had found an extra key for his flat in Moscow as well as for the house that lay on the outskirts of the city. He was sure that Russia would kill him if he'd ever find out but on the other hand it hadn't been America who ignored all the phone calls and worried text messages. And so he slipped the key into the lock of the modern flat in the heart of Moscow.  
America first thought about going to the larger house but he remembered Russia once saying that he usually stayed in the flat during workdays in winter. The streets would be even more crowded than they already were and he would constantly have to be cautious not to get snowed in over night Russia once explained.

Personally America liked the flat a lot more as the huge old house in which one empty bedroom was followed by the next one felt cold to him. He never understood how Russia had no problem living in a place so lonely. When asked Russia had told him that with America being there the house wasn't lonely. Could not and would never be lonely. Not that that had been an actual answer but America had learned that the best way to get Russia to talk was to let him decide about what and when he'd talk about anything.  
The door opened without making any sounds unlike the creak every door in the old house seemed to make when one opened them. America reached for the wall to his left sliding his hand over the rough wallpaper to find the light switch.  
The lights flickered and finally illuminated the corridor. To his right several coats neatly hang on hooks. Underneath some boots were placed on a towel. At least America could now be sure that Russia must have been here recently judging from the still drying shoes.

Fidgeting with his shoelaces America slipped out of his converse and placed them next to the dark brown boots on the towel. In his opinion to use the towel like that was a waste of it but Russia had argued that he preferred it this way.  
The white-greyish floor tiles America currently stood on were replaced by a light coloured parquet as soon as one took the one step leading up to and unto it.  
To the left three doors led to a bathroom (too small for America's taste but nonetheless quite nice), a guest room (that hadn't been furnished until America had first stayed over for one night) and one to Russia's crammed office. On his right America knew he could choose between the kitchen (bright and modern), Russia's bedroom (locked as always) and the living room (the only room besides the office that looked as if anyone actually lived here).  
Opening his zipper jacket and slipping out of it just to hang it next to a black coat, America hopped up the step and turned the door knob to enter the living room.

Upon entering the room America did not notice how the fireplace hadn't been used for a few days, how the room was just a tad too cold and the sunflowers in a porcelain vase just a bit too old. He probably would have if he had hadn't been so tired from the long flight.  
The sofa looked so comfortable and warm America thought.  
  
***  
  
The sound of fingers drumming on a table filled the otherwise silent room. Russia kneeled across the coffee table trying to figure out what to do. On his couch lay a certain American.

Besides the fact that Russia had no idea how America had let himself in without breaking the lock, what stunned him even more was that the American was here at all.  
When he had found him in the living he was overwhelmed with confusion. He had retreated to his bedroom immediately and just stood there for a few minutes contemplating on what to do.

On the one hand he appreciated the presence of the sunny blonde but on the other hand he had just wanted him to leave. He had ignored America's calls and texts for a reason and the man currently strechted over the sofa his legs dangling over one end and his head resting against the other must have known that. Or at least that's what Russia assumed.

After calming a bit he had returned to the living room willing to wake up and throw the American out. Yet he couldn't.  
Slightly angered Russia stared at America hoping he would wake up before he himself would give in the temptation to violently shake him to end the slumber the other was in. Like a lurking wolve waiting for the right moment to act and with narrowed eyes he kept track of every little movement the American made. His chest rising and falling in a steady rythm.

  
_No, America wasn't supposed to be here and he should have never come._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The airport America leaves is the Domodedovo (short DME) airport  
> \- I sticked with the underground map of moscow which i could find on wikipedia and one of the closest stations is the one i mentioned of the lime line also called Lyublinsko-Dmitrovskaya line  
> \- If you haven’t seen pictures of the underground stations in Moscow yet I highly encourage you to google for some pictures. They are really amazing.  
> \- I guess alll of you know what I’m refering to with the Gulags but if you don’t you should probably do some research on them. But to put it simply it were forced labour camps, although the term Gulag is also used to refer to the system of said camps.  
> \- The Holodomor was a man-made famine in Ukraine in 1932 and 1933 that killed an estimated 2.5–7.5 million Ukrainians. Since 2006 it's recognized by more than 20 countries as a genocide.
> 
> Edit:  
> So someone asked me why I posted this chapter independently although there’s not much of a story progression.  
> Well so i thought about not having this seperately from the chapter 7 (that I’m currently working on) too but I decided not too because i tried to lie the emphasis on the difference on how America perceives Moscow and how Russia did beforehand. Alfred’s world view is not a fairy tale alike one but he sees beauty in most if not all things and for him Moscow is beautiful, for Ivan it’s in comparison cold and grey not because he hates it but because Russia views the world in a different way in general.  
> Furthermore I really wanted to highlight once again how reclusive Russia still is as he takes rather long to open up to America.  
> As Chrurchill put it so nicely “[Russia] is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”
> 
> So Russia currently spends more time in the flat in my story but because of his current state he didn’t really took care of it as much as he usually would have done. Alfred didn’t notice that but if he had it would have been a clue for just how bad Russia currently feels.


	7. Chapter 7

“What?”, America asked irritated as if he didn't understand what Russia had just said or deliberately chose to ignore it.

“You understood me correctly. I want you to leave.”, Russias emphasised every syllable his voice still colder than ice. Indeed so cold touching it would have physically hurt if it had been possible.

“Wait. I came here to look after you because your stupid ass was too lazy to text me and that's all i get?”

No response. Instead just more piercing stares.

“Ivan I was worried and I only wanted to check on you. God damn, I don't try to spy on you or whatever you think i'm doing that ticks you off like this. That's just what people do if they care about each other!”, America felt anger creeping up on him. Russia had no right to react like this. It wasn't his fault that he had come here. And apparently Russia had decided to be rude and aggressive towards him without having any reason. America struggled to keep his voice down and surpress the urge to yell at him.

“I have not asked you to come.”

The frosty tone felt yet again to America as if someone had pulled the rug underneath his feet.

“ _You_ haven't exchanged any word with me for several days straight. You haven't answered any of my calls or messages. How am I supposed to interpret that?! I was worried sick Ivan!”

“So? - You have seen everything is alright. I believe you can leave then,da?!”, although it came out as an question the words were an order and left no room for interpretation. But America was past caring for Russias current sentiments.

“No, I won't because clearly you're not 'alright'. And i won't do anything I might regret later.”

_\- He's only pitying you. See he thinks you're too weak to handle this on your own.-_

“Alfr...America I don't want to discuss this any further. This is my home and I persist that you leave it – now.”, Russia turned away from America being only able to see him from the corner of his eye.

_\- Right! Send him away. He's a liar and we don't want him here or anywhere near you.-_

“Discuss? We're not discussing anything, you barely listen to what I say!”

“Leave.”

“You know what? At least try to be convincing and look me in the eye!”, America could barely restrain himself from gripping the shoulder of the other and making him face him by force.

_\- Now!! Tell him! He'll leave us alone. Just like we're supposed to be.-_

“Leave!!”, Russia whirled around his eyes glistening dangerously like drawn knifes under the moonlight, although in Russias case lilac moonlight. The same eyes that America had seen so often during the Cold War when Russia had accused him of betraying him and plunging the world into chaos for Americas own benefits.

America was caught off guard by Ivans voice sharp as glass shards from a broken mirror cutting deep into Americas flesh.

“Ivan?”, America uttered silently nearly tripping on the name before he regained his countenance. Russia seemingly didn't hear it. His eyes still focussed on America.

For a second the two just kept staring at each other until America felt anger rising in his chest being unnerved by the behaviour of the Russian.

“Damnit, if you want to keep on suffering alone and rotting away in your selfpity then please go ahead! I'm done with this. If you didn't want me to care you should have never made me love you, bolshevik!”

In the blink of an eye Russias mouth seemed to twitch and his eyes lost the burning hatred and looked earnestly shocked but the moment passed before America even noticed it.

 

_ \- There! He said it! You're nothing but an evil communist and a waste of time to him.-  
_

Russia's face went blank and cold but instead of hissing at the American as a part of him told him, he turned away. America ignored the impulse to say something or even apologize. Instead his mind was clouded by a feeling of betrayal and just like Russia he turned on his heel quickly grabbing his bag. The door to the corridor had still been open and without looking back America threw open the front door and left the flat.

His heartbeat was fast, his lungs carved into his ribs and his ears rang alarmingly as all surrounding sounds melted into one hazy noise when he stumbled out of the building.  
Dozens of emotions tumbled in his mind ranging from anger to disappointment and being hurt.  
The crunching snow seemed way louder than when he came here the sound nearly driving him crazy as he picked up the pace trying to get as far from Russia as possible. 

Only when he jumped backwards in the last second before being hit by a car, he realized that he had began to run and had already put several blocks between him and the well known flat.  
Feeling nauseous he stopped and took in deep breaths while trying to collect and reassamble himself and his thoughts.  
Exhaling little clouds into the cold winter air he straightened after a few minutes had passed. He looked around taking in the buildings and signs that could hopefully tell him where he was. But the area was unfamiliar to him. Upon spotting a hotel just across the street he looked at his wirstwatch. A pity he had changed it to Moscow time now that he would leave again as soon as possible. Deciding that it was too late to still take a plane the night he was delighted that the hotel didn't looked too bad nor too expensive for Moscow standard. 

Although America felt calm compared to some minutes ago the woman behind the reception desk gave him a strange look when he asked her for a room to stay overnight but she didn't ask a single thing besides the ordinary, just name and how long he wanted to stay.  
She handed him a key and thanking her America took the stairs to get to his designated room.

The room turned out to be rather small for Americas taste but he only wanted to stay for one night anyways. There was one bed with a nightstand and a bathroom. America shrugged it wasn't too bad he guessed.

 

***  
  
Two hours had passed since America had fallen into the bed and pulled the blanket over himself yet he was still awake, staring at the ceilling. 

Russia had sent him away.

Russia had asked him, no ordered him to leave.

And even though America wanted to be angry the longer he thought about it the less he could. Without doubt Russia had been rude, ignorant and emotionally violative but Americas mind spinned around something else.  
He had come to Moscow to look after Russia, find out what was wrong and what had caused him to ignore America so completely. But instead of finding out anything he had argued with the one person he trusted with his own life. It seemed this notion was one-sided. Otherwise Russia would have told him, wouldn't he?!  
America knew the feeling of wanting to keep things secretive. He personally preferred not to talk about any sensitive issues with anyone. Just recently he had told the Russian some of his 'secrets'. Nothing about politics or government but about some of the thoughts and feelings he had actively chosen to hide ages ago when he learned that the world wasn't nearly as nice and friendly as he had imagined in his 'childhood'.  
He had hoped that maybe the Russian would open up to him too, at least a bit, after Ivan had promised it to him. Saying he answer Americas questions as soon as he could. By showing Russia just how much he trusted him Alfred had hoped to show him that he was willing to give Russia the time he said he needed.  
It had been more than just complicated to let down his facade completely in front of the Russian. America had always preferred being in control of things, having problems to give said control away by being just honest. It was easier to wear a masque. Had been easier for decades.  
He knew Russia felt similar although his mistrust was even deeper rooted than Americas which was already nearly impossible. But Russia had lived in a world of lies and betrayal for centuries. Not everything had been terrible Russia had once told him but it was crystal clear to America that there were a lot more scars left on Russias mind than what the man admitted to him.

Feeling trapped in his thoughts about himself and the Russian America didn't notice the tears that began pouring out of his eyes until they became more and more and his vision blurry.  
  
***  
  
It was the right thing to do. It's better like this. He doesn't need to be burdened with my problems. He doesn't deserve it.

_ \- He deserves all the misery. He's a corrupt, ignorant and arrogant capitalist who's playing with your feelings. He deserves it all. He should suffer. He must. - _

He doesn't.

Russia coiled up under the thin blanket in the ice cold room.  
Ever since America had left he hadn't touched anything, retreating to his office trying to bury himself in work yet again. He had only gotten up to grab himself a blanket when he began to freeze.  
Hadn't Russia been absorbed in his thoughts he would have wondered about freezing as he usually didn't even when his body temperature was below 36°C (96.8°F). Now he was too distracted or rather occupied by his own mind.

It was going to be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really sorry that this chapter is so short but i had a lot more problems with writing the dialouge than i expected.
> 
> A for Russias thoughts I guess you all have noticed the obvious pattern already differentiating host (main personality) and alter.
> 
> There's nothing else to add for now.  
> I'll try to update weekly again (at least) for now but since i'm participating in the RusAme Holiday month on tumblr too i might not be able to but i'll try my best.  
> Also belated happy thanksgiving to all of you who celebrate it!


End file.
